


On The Fence

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How dangerous can false reasoning prove!"  Sophocles<br/>Stockwell Arc</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Fence

**Author's Note:**

> Gap Filler for Ep.310  
> Originally posted on LJ in 2011

      The initial glow of their back alley brothers-in-arms kiss peppered the ride to the loft with innocuous comments that skirted an issue both didn’t want to address. But as possible repercussions, albeit remote or so he thought, seeped into Brian’s brain, the professional implications enveloped the jeep in a suffocating silence.

                                                                      

       Increasingly apprehensive at the lack of conversation, Justin pinched his bottom lip between his teeth, mulling over what had happened earlier. Brian’s sudden appearance had unsettled him. No, that’s not quite right. It actually terrified him, at least until he realized whose hand had clamped around his wrist. When Brian snatched a poster and slapped it on the brick wall, he breathed a relieved sigh, thinking he had come to his senses.

                                                                                 
       
       But that relief was becoming more short-lived with every passing minute. In between furtive looks thrown at the tight-lipped driver, he stared at the buildings whizzing by. His hands tightened their grip around the backpack on his lap. How many rounds they would have to go before reaching an agreement? That this should threaten to tear them apart, now of all times, seemed a cruel act of fate. Nothing was ever easy with them, regardless of the cause or the reason.                                                                                 

                                                                                                      * * * *  
       Muscles thrumming with tension, Brian strode into the loft and slammed the door with a metal clang that reverberated through the loft like the opening bell of a prizefight. Prada shoes echoed his displeasure with every clickety clack on the hardwood floor. After flinging his jacket on the sofa, he hurried toward the bar for a much needed drink and drained his glass in one gulp. With a decisive thud, he slammed it down and sucked in a sharp breath.  
      
      “What the fuck were you thinking? What part of ‘You’re not just fucking with him, you’re fucking with me’ didn’t register? Did _anything_ I say penetrate?” Barely able to conceal his irritation, he needed an explanation. “Well?” He had to focus only on Justin’s actions and motivations to silence the voices in his head, the ones chattering how his descent into hell could be a one way ticket this time.  
       
       Justin’s first cause and effect of emotion, anxiety followed by appeasement, disappeared at Brian’s inability, or more accurately his reluctance to see the bigger picture. Trying to stay calm in the face of a brewing thundercloud, he couldn’t stop his annoyance. “Of course it did! But sometimes there _are_ more important issues than you and your job.” Eyes narrowed to slits, he added, “I know that’s an impossible concept for you to grasp.” 

       Brian stared in stunned disbelief at the comment, then lashed out with biting sarcasm of his own. “Of course you’re right. I mean, considering the infinite workings of the universe, my job is meaningless. The fact that it puts food in our mouths, a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, and last but not least, tuition in your account is immaterial. How egotistical of me to think otherwise!”  
      
      “Hey, I didn’t, I nev—”  
      
      “You stupid twat! I mentioned your tuition to make a point. Where the fuck is your 1500 SAT score, Super Boy? Don’t you think I know Stockwell’s a homophobic prick? But it’s my fucking job! It’s just business!” Massaging between his eyes to ward off a migraine, he had to have peace and quiet. “I need a shower.”  
                                                                 
                                                                                                    * * * *  
       He quickly shed his clothing, kicking each piece into a makeshift pile on the floor, and turned the jets on full blast. Resting his head against the slick tile, he closed his eyes, hoping the pulsing water could erase the grime of unease on his skin and the knot of turmoil in his chest. No stranger to criticism, he was used to having his integrity impugned and his motives questioned by everyone. Usually, he never gave it a second thought, the accusations rolling off his back as quickly as he rolled off a trick’s. But now they were wrapped in self-doubt, on a collision course toward the one thing he held most dear—his freedom to fuck.  
       
       He had always traveled a personal and professional slippery slope, priding himself on pushing the envelope and taking risks, traits that prompted raised eyebrows and worried looks when he first joined Ryder. Those who thought his methods and behavior had the potential to stain the firm’s reputation never missed an opportunity to bend the owner’s ear with the latest “you won’t believe what he wants to do” piece of gossip. He enjoyed the reactions when people figured out what they were up against, _who_ they were up against, and would inwardly smirk when they folded like spineless wimps. Worked fine for him. Made them less trouble to deal with. But in true Kinney fashion, he won everyone over by charm, ability, and if needed, a fuck.  
       
       When Vance took over, throwing ultimatums and conditions in his face in order to keep his job, nothing was left to chance. He and Cynthia did their research and armed with reams of information, he sifted through and analyzed the data with a keen eye. His aggressive and unorthodox technique landed the Brown Athletics account for Gardner and his shrewd and calculating business sense landed a partnership for himself. But that particular rung on his climb up the corporate ladder was one he would prefer to forget. Forever linked with the Vermont debacle, the cost had been too high and the pain too great. _Hey Sunshine, come congratulate me! Your partner just made partner!_  
       
       With unnerving insight, he realized there was more shadow than light in his professional dealings with clients like Stockwell. He had been in his line of work for too long and was too savvy to expect clarity from such opacity. But he also knew that answers could come when least expected. Because sometimes the darkness itself provided the light.

                                    “Guess they can’t call me a homophobe now, can they? Three other gay organizations  
                                      have come out for me as well, all saying it’s about time somebody cleaned up Liberty  
                                      Avenue. And I have you to thank for it. You helped me get the message out there, that  
                                      I want a safe, clean, morally upstanding city for all of our citizens. You and the fine  
                                      folks at the Gay & Lesbian Center understand that.”  
       
       He grimaced at the memory. With only the two of them in his office, no staff or acquaintances, no hangers-on or sycophants, Stockwell could have let his guard down, but he didn’t. _Because there was no guard_. Instead, he crowed about gaining the support of gay and lesbian organizations and evangelized about cleaning up the streets for all decent, law-abiding citizens, eliminating establishments that promoted or encouraged promiscuous sex.

                                                 

       The niggling uncertainty he tried to ignore from the beginning of their association paled in comparison to the sense of foreboding and second-guessing that surfaced after their meeting. Until that very moment, he had the luxury of convincing himself the police chief was just another self-serving politician, picking up any cause to get elected. Then once in office, he would conveniently forget or disregard his campaign promises. And life on Liberty Avenue would gayly go on, its denizens dancing and fucking to the ever-present thumpa-thumpa beat.

_“_ **One’s mind has a way of making itself up in the background, and it suddenly becomes clear what one means to do.”** _A.C.Benson_  
       
       But now he knew Stockwell’s zealot rant was genuine, that he truly believed what he said. If he had any prior doubts, real or ill-conceived, they blew up at Babylon, with the padlocked door to the back room. How could he have missed the signs? Normally, he could shrug it off, _would_ shrug it off, consoling his ego with the thought that even perfect people stumble once in a rare while. But Brian Kinney, advertising genius, couldn’t make the sale.  
       
       Like it or not, he came to the disturbing conclusion that his omniscient sixth sense failed him—big time. But trying to figure out _why_ it failed was even more disturbing. Narcissism notwithstanding, was he so consumed by greed and seduced by ambition that he deliberately ignored the warnings? He hoped not, although he knew too well it wasn’t beyond the realm of reason. In fact, it was most probable.

**“Through pride we are ever deceiving ourselves. But deep down below the surface of the average conscience a still, small voice says to us that something is out of tune.”** _C.Jung_  
                                                                                            * * * *  
       The unsatisfying shower did nothing to resolve his conflict. He returned shirtless, impeccably tailored jeans barely clinging to his hips, and grabbed a bottle of water. With a sideways glance at Justin, he slumped onto the sofa, hoping pragmatism had overtaken principle just this once so he would reconsider his actions. He doubted it. He always admired that Justin wasn’t afraid to speak his mind or even to provoke him, especially when pitted against the underbelly of his dysfunctional psyche. Most turned chicken shit in the face of his greater will. But this, this was different. When viewed through his own hazel lens, it had nothing to do with fearlessness, but rather disrespect for him and disregard for his job—despite tendrils of an inner moral code telling him otherwise.  
       
       They sat in silence, as if the sound had been turned off in the cavernous space. For them to work this out, they had to depend on what brought them together in the first place, what continued to bring them together and now, what was wrenching them apart.  
       
       As usual, Justin was the one to break their impasse.  
      
      “Let me ask you something,” he started hesitantly. “In a hypothetical situation, if you wanted someone to quit what they were doing, but you really didn’t want to hurt them, what would you do?”  
      
      “That depends. In or out of bed?”  
       
       When Justin shot him his familiar patronizing look, he exhaled a whoosh of air and struggled to follow the train of thought. “If a guy’s not a serious threat, you don’t hurt him. But if he is, tough shit. Take him down any way you can.”  
       
       His thought process complete, he locked his gaze on Justin. “Are you talking about Stockwell or _me?”_  
                                                                
                                                                                            * * * *  
       Justin took a deep breath, determination deepening his eyes to a resolute shade of blue. “Everyone is worried.” He amended, “Everyone who knows you, I mean.”  
       
      “You’ve been talking about me behind my back?” Brian clenched his hands into fists.  
                                         
       Undeterred, he answered, “Yeah, we have. Sort of. But no one wanted to insult you by mentioning it in case you really hadn’t been seduced by the Dark Side of the Force or Dr. Jekyll hadn’t turned into Mr. Hyde or—” When a heated glare threatened to incinerate him, he got himself back on track.  
      
      “Also,” he went on to drive the point home, “no one wanted to be the target of the great Kinney wrath if they _did_ bring it up. They nominated me to be the scapegoat, but I turned them down. Want to know why?”  
       
       Brian gritted his teeth. “Not really.”  
      
      “I turned them down,” he continued as if the response had been _yes please._ “Because I kept telling myself you must have a master plan or hidden agenda. Because no matter how greedy or ambitious, you would never compromise your principles, such as they are, to work with someone who wants to banish us from the face of the earth.”  
       
       With the trademark skeptical brow the catalyst, he gathered steam. “What? I’m exaggerating? He wants us dead, Brian! D-E-A-D! All of us—Michael, Ted, Emmett, me, even _you!_ You think after he’s in office and doesn’t need you to be his gay poster child any more, he’s going to want you in his family friendly utopia?”  His voice turned steely. “I seem to remember some guy from my past telling me that a certain woman senator was just using me for votes to get elected and warned me not to get too complacent. I wonder what happened to him?”  
      
      “You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone who gives a shit,” Brian mocked. He poured another drink and tossed it back with abandon.  
      
      “That’s crap and you know it!” He wearily rubbed his eyes. “What the fuck happened to you, Brian?” It wasn’t so much an accusation as it was an honest question, waiting for an honest explanation.

                             _“I’m looking through you, where did you go? I thought I knew you, what did I know?_  
                              _You don’t look different, but you have changed. I’m looking through you. You’re not the same.”_  
                              _©Lennon/McCartney_  
       
      “I don’t have to like him to do my job.”  
       
       Flushed and furious, he stomped around the loft, arms flailing in all directions. “I cannot believe you said that and I can’t believe we’re on different sides of the coin on this!” He came to a sudden stop and tugged at a handful of hair. “Fuck! Even when you’re so fucking wrong, you’re relentless and won’t admit it! I want to yell and scream at you because what you’re doing is fucking incomprehensible to me, but I can’t! I can’t play good guy/bad guy because of your obviously misguided and dysfunctional state of mind.”  
       
       He could never overlook or condone what Brian was doing. At the very least, though, he had to understand why. But to do that, he would have to see something, find something deep inside Brian that even he didn’t know was there—and to be _able_ to do that, he would really have to make an effort—and to be successful, he would really have to love him.    
       
       His shoulders stiffened. “Jesus! Can’t you see you’re helping him win, helping him destroy everything you believe in? Stockwell isn’t just giving campaign speeches. He’s not just spouting rhetoric. It’s what he believes! Your personal end doesn’t justify the means here.”  
       
       Hands on hips, as if challenging Brian to a dual, he plodded on, desperate for him to understand. “You manipulate events and people all the time to get your way, but you can’t or _won’t_ see that’s exactly what you’re doing to yourself! You’re manipulating ‘Brian Kinney the person’ into believing Stockwell isn’t a serious threat so that ‘Brian Kinney the professional’ can become a big fucking success and move to New York.” He shook his head and sighed. “What the fuck is it about you and New York anyway?”  
       
       When he didn’t receive an answer, he sank down on the sofa, chin in his hands. “I guess I was wrong. I guess there is something to worry about.” 

                                                    
                                                                                          * * * *  
       Brian refilled his glass and took a long swallow. Much easier to face a crisis of the spirit with liquid spirit in his system. He knew Justin mistook his silence for dissent, but nothing could be further from the truth. He hadn’t responded because he didn’t know what to say. His stance was inexcusable in Justin’s eyes, as it was in everyone else’s. The difference was that Justin’s opinion mattered.   
       
       Exhausted from wrestling with his conscience, he had an epiphanic flash of awareness. You can’t dance with the devil and not expect him to lead. He understood the destructive power of man’s inner darkness, a darkness hurtling faster than a freight train to destroy everything and everyone he cared about.

   _“_ **Each man must for himself alone decide what is right and what is wrong. You cannot shirk this and be a man. To decide against your conviction is to be an inexcusable traitor to yourself.”** _M.Twain_  
       
       His face grew hot as the blue flame's steady gaze drilled through layers of bullshit and self-deception. They blazed a path to his soul, searching until they found what they wanted, what they knew had been there all the time—purity of truth.  
       
       The stillness between them almost unbearable, he frowned and headed toward the hastily dropped bag of posters. Acknowledging he should have handled things differently, he gave an imperceptible shrug. _No apologies, no regrets, Kinney._ He couldn’t change the past, but he could do something about the future.  
       
       For some unexplained reason, a load lifted from his shoulders. Was it because he now knew what he was up against or because he knew someone would watch his back regardless of the circumstance? Biting his lower lip, he picked up one of the posters and slowly unrolled the paper. Justin came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist as he stared at the art work.  
       
       A gravelly chuckle bubbled from his throat, and he threw a sheepish glance over his shoulder. “A bit heavy handed and crude in my opinion.”  
      
      “Everyone’s an art critic these days,” Justin murmured.  
      
      “Got any more brilliant ideas?”  
      
      “Hmm, I might be able to come up with a couple.”  
       
       Extricating himself from Justin’s grasp, he turned around and nodded his approval. “Glad to hear it. Think you’ll need any help?” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he maneuvered them to the bedroom.  
      
      “With what?”  
      
      “With coming.” He smirked. “Coming up with ideas, that is.”  
       
      “I could definitely use a _hand_ , Mr. Kinney. Are you volunteering?”  
      
      “Always, Mr. Taylor.”  
                                          


End file.
